


must have been the air vents

by revoleotion



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Mention of abuse, Must Have Been The Wind, Song fic, description of violence, fix-it sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revoleotion/pseuds/revoleotion
Summary: “It must've been the wind,” the boy says.“On a ship. In space.”“Air vents.”She stares at him, his pale face that has never seen the sun, bright grey eyes, and black uniform pulled up to his chin. She knows he's lying. And Phasma wants to ask him about the noise but she knows who he lives with.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Phasma
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	must have been the air vents

It's the time between midnight and early morning when her body wakes up like an invisible force shook her. It takes Phasma a couple of seconds to realize where she is. She grew less claustrophobic with each day passing. The walls keeping her from suffocating in the endless void are a welcome shield, rather than a cage. What she didn't get used to is the noise. It's not the first time she hears it but the first time the noise is followed by the sound of crying. 

Phasma isn't foolish enough to put it off as a dream. She is sure which room the noise is coming from, since she memorized the ship's map right after entering it. Brendol forced her to do it a week later, just to realize she already knew it. She wished she could say that his praise made her proud but all she could see was the face of the man that blew her planet into pieces because it had happened to be a little unpleasant. But of course she has memorized the location of her superior's room, along with the small quarter next to it. 

She takes the elevator up to the higher floors and walks down the hallways. They’re all bland and identical and _beautiful_. Phasma loves to see the beauty in structure, in order. The perfect symmetry of the hallways always gives her hope. One day, the galaxy will lie in perfect order, she’s sure of it. And even if not, she will make it out as a survivor. She, and maybe the boy in the room a few meters away from her. 

She knocks with no regard for the time or privacy. She didn’t know the concept before the First Order and quickly got to realize that they don’t value it either. There are hushed voices, footsteps and the door opens with a little hiss.

“I heard noises,” she says in the typical First Order accent she adopted from Brendol Hux not even a day after they met. 

The boy stares at her. When she first saw him, he seemed like a miniature version of Brendol Hux but now she sees more. He's fragile, closer to a Scyre child than to the son of a wealthy First Order officer. There aren’t any hints of bruises on his face but he pulls his sleeves down when she glares down on them. 

“Shattering glass,” Phasma continues when he doesn't show a sign of understanding her. She doesn't get the reaction she wants; instead of an explanation, his face hardens. For the first time, she sees resemblance to his father. 

“Listen, I'd love to help you but I didn't hear anything. It must've been the wind,” the boy says. 

“On a ship. In space.”

“Air vents.” 

She stares at him, his pale face that has never seen the sun, bright grey eyes, and black uniform pulled up to his chin. She knows he's lying. And Phasma wants to ask him about the noise but she knows who he lives with. She knows the horror that Brendol Hux causes, she can't imagine how it is to be around him for 25 years. Or maybe she can. Either way, she turns away and leaves Armitage alone with his lies. 

* * *

Phasma is far away from having a clear conscience. She is aware of that and she doesn't judges herself for having grown into a ruthless person that allows herself to be weaponized. This is the reason she's surprised when she can't stop thinking about it, even days later. She's on the floor, her back pressed to the cold concrete. When she looks up the the ceiling, the room is spinning, not unlike the spiraling thoughts inside her head. She can't leave him behind like this. 

Phasma knows that the boy isn't completely defenseless but he seems stuck in his situation. To Phasma, every human is a monster, some just haven't accepted it yet. Brendol Hux is worse than most, and he's shaping little Armitage into an attack dog that will bite back. But not now. 

She puts on the helmet, nods at her reflection in the mirror and walks to the elevator again. The ride feels endless yet painfully short. A trooper shares the elevator with her, red armor, angry glares towards her that she neglects. Cardinal is a bug in the system, a jealous beetle she’d like to crush under her heels. He’s too good at heart to be ruthless, too ambitious to accept his fate. 

She goes as far as nodding at him before leaving the elevator. As Brendol’s old bodyguard, he knows where she’s heading and it fills Phasma with pride to know that she took his position. She came from nothing, from a colony the government left behind because it was no longer useful. She knows his backstory too, the scared child from Jakku that would give his life to Brendol. Their pasts don't matter in the First Order. What matters is that she's better than him. 

What matters is that Cardinal would favor Brendol over the general's weak son anytime. Phasma slowly comes to realize that she doesn't. The difference between her and Cardinal is that he is loyal. This isn't a trait she sees in herself. Cardinal would've been the best thing to happen to Brendol Hux - but now she's here and she knocks on the door to make his son tell the whole truth. 

“Can I help you?” the boy asks. His hair is stuck to his temple, blood running down his face like red glue. He makes a point of pretending it's not there. His hands are behind his back, even when blood drips to his uniform, he doesn't show them to wipe it away. 

“What happened?” Phasma asks. 

His eyes lose focus for a second. She reaches out for him but he flinches away from her. 

“I don't know what you are talking about.”

There's a voice from the inside, “ _who are you talking to, Armitage?_ ” 

The boy turns his head, allowing Phasma to see that his injury looks worse from the side. She ignores the urge to step closer and touch it. Being around Brendol has taught her that nobody dies from such things in here. There are no scars anymore. The wealthy elite of the galaxy is desensitized to violence. 

“Thanks for… investigating ,” (he wants to say _caring_ ), “But I have to go back in.” 

Phasma doesn't move. 

“It must've been the air vents,” Armitage adds, and she can already tell that this is his favorite excuse from now on. He will repeat that lie whenever she asks him, even if she caught him in the middle of a fight. 

“I see,” Phasma says. They look at each other for a few more seconds. Her face is hidden underneath the helmet and his emotions are hidden underneath a cold expression. 

He makes a small step back and closes the door in front of her. The claustrophobia hits her with no warning, for the first time in days. Phasma misses the endless landscapes, the blue skies, the hard life of the Scyre that was in no way as complicated as being around Brendol Hux. 

* * *

She takes her time to craft the message. She types it multiple times on a datapad with no access to the network. Once she likes the sound of it, the way the words escape her throat when she practices them, she waits for him. It doesn't take long. 

During daylight settings, Armitage is taller. Surrounded by white troopers, armors reflecting the lights, he's a dark void that swallows the memories of night time. Phasma steps closer to him, looks down on him and says her lines. They float a little before they reach him, and even though Phasma has no concept of theater, she's an actress on a stage right now. 

“We can talk about it if you're ready. Until then it must have been the air vents.” 

Armitage looks up to her, a hard, unforgiving expression in his eyes. It's the same rage she has seen the first time she met him. The same rage that shines through his calm facade whenever Brendol Hux isn't looking at him. He opens his mouth, closes it again, pulls at his uniform. His face is spotless again, no sign of what she has seen at night. Phasma takes it in, the miracle of science that cleans up external messes within seconds, then she steps back. She has said her lines, it's his turn to speak. 

They never talk about it. Not really. 

They share a glance when Brendol dies in front of them. Phasma catches the hint of a smile on Armitage's lips, grey eyes sparking with more than fear for once. She sees that smile quite a few times; he gives it to her like it's a “thank you” note. In some ways it is. 

And when the flames embrace her and she prepares herself for the impact (it's never the fall that kills you, never the blaster; it's the ground that crushes your limbs and it's the bullet crashing through your ribs), she thinks about his last smile, a proud one. She thinks about how she never told him she lowered the Starkiller Base shields, how she betrayed him, even him. She thinks about how he slapped FN-2187 and how he lowered himself to whisper into his father's ear, “my turn now”, she thinks about how he became the most dangerous weapon of them all. Survival first, time taught them well. 

He had been so happy when she escaped the exploding Starkiller. She can't give him another miracle. 

Phasma closes her eyes. 


End file.
